Sicko’s plans for us were clear. We were supposed to find out where the judge had his money and then kill him. Period. For twenty minutes, Keith paced in front of him, demanding answers to questions about drug money and Randell, with all the success of a man trying to wrestle answers from a brick wall.
In regard to minor details, Keith had more success. We learned his name: Judge Franklin Thompson. We learned that he presided over the Second District Court of Appeals; that before being elected to the court, he’d practiced law for fifteen years in the Bay Area; that he was divorced and had one son living in Boston; that he’d graduated from Yale Law School; that he’d smoked pot in college; that he had a boat in Marina del Rey, and that he was a narcissistic man who feasted on his own importance.
We also learned that he was loaded with money.
But I no longer cared about the money. I wasn’t even sure Sicko’s game had anything to do with money. What I did know was that the judge was my only outside link to Danny. I stood by the desk with my arms crossed and let the two of them hammer through their one-way interrogation, biting my tongue, eager to get on to Danny.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Even if I did know about Bruce Randell’s conviction or incarceration, I’m bound by confidentiality,” the judge was saying. Thompson’s blotchy red face was sweaty, and his graying hair had fallen down over his forehead. “You must believe me, I don’t know. I did not preside over the case and I have no clue about any drug money. Or any other money connected to this man. This is absurd.”
Keith squatted down in front of the man and rested the barrel of his gun on the judge’s lap. “And how many times do I have to tell you that we don’t have a choice here? Someone thinks you have their money. You either tell us where it is, or all three of us are dead. All of us. I know it’s absurd. I also know that I don’t want to die. So either you tell us where the money is, or it’s over. It that really too difficult to understand?”
“I don’t have your one million dollars!” the man snarled.
Keith’s hand flashed out and slapped the judge’s cheek. “Wake up! Where’s the money? Why do they want you dead?”
The room fell silent. Blood edged the corner of Thompson’s mouth.
“I don’t think you understand,” the man said bitterly. “I am in no way connected to any drug money, so I have no idea why the people behind this would want me dead. Even if I agreed to give you a million dollars I couldn’t get to it until the banks opened and it would take some time. You can’t just muscle your way into a judge’s home and demand a million dollars.”
“This isn’t our plan. It’s someone else’s, and they aren’t giving us options.”
“Who?” Thompson demanded.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know!”
“Think!” Keith snapped. “Forget the money for a minute and think about who would tell us to come to this house and put a gun to your head. You have that security system in place for a reason. Who would want you dead, for any reason?”
Thompson blinked. “I have more enemies than I can count.”
“But there has to be someone…A case that stands out. A sentence that kept you awake at night. Anything above and beyond.”
The man hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “We do our best.”
“Well tonight your best is going to get you killed.”
“And you’d spend the rest of your life in prison. As you said, I have security. It includes surveillance. Both of you are already on tape, off site. If anything happens to me, the law’s going to see that footage.”
That caught us both off guard. Keith glared at Thompson. “The law’s the least of our concerns. None of us will survive long enough.”
I lowered my arms. “Keith, can I talk to you a minute?”
He faced me, flushed with frustration, then gave a shallow nod. We stepped outside the office and around the corner. The house was still dark except for the light from the office, and more spilling down the stairs from a wall lamp.
“He’s lying,” Keith said.
“Probably, but if he’s got the money we’ll have to tear the house apart to find it or wait until the banks open tomorrow, like he said. I don’t think this has anything to do with Randell’s drug money. I don’t like it.”
“None of this makes sense.” Keith waved his gun absently. “None of it! Why would he send us here to kill a judge?”
“That doesn’t matter now.”
“He’s got us on tape.”
“We’re being played, Keith. You said it yourself, this is about Danny. A judge who has it out for Danny.”
He looked up at me. “You think this guy’s Sicko?”
I glanced at the door and kept my voice low. “No. But I mentioned Danny’s name before you came in, and he recognized it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I know a man’s face. I want to find out what he knows about Basal and Danny.”
“We’re screwed now, I hope you realize that. He’s got us on tape.”
“We’ve been screwed for a week,” I said. “Forget about the money. We have to find out what he knows about Danny.” I stared into his eyes, determined. “I don’t care what it takes.”
“We need leverage, something to hold over his head.”
“All right, we need leverage, but this is about Danny. And I want to do it my way now.”
“Fine. Your way.”
“I want to talk to him alone.”
He wasn’t expecting that. “Alone? Why?”
“Because I think I can talk to him as a woman.”
“I don’t see what—”
“Sometimes a woman can do things to a man that a man can’t. Just give me ten minutes with him. Alone. With the door closed.”
He stared at me, unsure.
I reached my hand out. “Give me the gun.”
“You can’t use the gun.”
“I need leverage. What do you think I’m going to use, my body? Give me the gun.”
“You can’t kill the man.”
“I’m not going to kill him! We have nothing to lose. Gun.”
He hesitated, then handed it over. “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to. Just watch the front door.”
I entered the office and closed the door behind me. Locked it. I’d made a vow to never divulge any of Danny’s crimes, which meant Keith couldn’t know what I knew about Danny’s first victim.
The judge couldn’t either. Unless he already knew.
Thompson had managed to move his chair a few inches closer to the side of the desk. I had no idea what he hoped to accomplish. His hands were taped to the chair’s rear legs. It wasn’t like he was going to reach some hidden weapon.
I yanked a tapestry off the wall and wrestled it under the front legs of his chair to keep the carpet clean. Then I grabbed a second wooden chair from its grouping around a small chess table in the corner, plopped it down in front of the judge, and sat facing him with my hands around the gun on my lap. For a few seconds I just stared at him, torn between grabbing his hair and knocking it against the desk until he told me what he knew, or taking a more crafty approach as I knew Danny would.
“Now you listen to me, judge. I’m not a violent person, you have to know that. I’m not like the murderers and rapists you send away for life. What I am is a woman. I need you to understand what that means. Do you know how it feels to be a woman?”
He looked at me with blank eyes.
“No, you don’t. Then let me help you out. Most women give birth to babies. It’s in their blood to protect those children at any cost. They can’t help it. It’s in their DNA. You can’t convince them otherwise, because it’s actually a part of themselves they’re protecting. They’ll give up their lives to save their children if they have to. Even you…If you had a son, you’d do anything to save him. Wouldn’t you?”